


Consolation Prize

by kay_emm_gee



Series: Bellarke Fic Week: February 2015 [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 5: Surprise Party</p><p>Bellamy has a bad day and is used to dealing with it on his own, until Clarke shows him, with her humor and some whipped cream, that with her around, even the worst days can be remedied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation Prize

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't quite think of this as needing a Mature rating, but the end is just a tiny, tiny more racy than my fics usually are (just barely), so just giving a heads up to be on the safe side.

Bellamy swore as he reached down retrieve his dropped phone, barely managing to keep his car in the correct lane. He really shouldn’t have been texting while driving, but his Friday had been shit and he needed to cancel plans with Clarke before it got too late. Of course, she hadn’t been satisfied with his simple explanation (literally being: _my day has been shit_ ). She wanted to know all of the details, because she was a fixer. Already she had texted him asking if he wanted her to bring him dinner, or rent him a movie, or some other favor to cheer him up. Really, Bellamy just wanted to flop down on his couch, suck down a few beers, and blow off steam, alone. Gritting his teeth, he tried not to be annoyed, because she was only trying to help. That’s what a girlfriend did. Still, company was not something he wanted tonight.

Finally, after another few seconds of searching, his fingers hit the phone and he quickly straightened up, eyes back on the road. He fumbled to open her latest text so he could tell her, in the politest but clearest terms possible, that he wanted to be alone. As he tried to type, however, he again lost focus; quickly, the angry blare of a few horns alerted him to his distracted driving. Huffing out a sigh, he tossed his phone onto the adjacent seat. No sense in adding an accident to his running list of crappy things that had happened today. His phone chimed a few more times as he gunned it back to his apartment, and, feeling his agitation rise, he sincerely hoped that the messages were not from Clarke.

When he finally pulled into the parking garage beneath his complex, he thumbed through her texts to him, the latest one reading: _Let me know when you’re close, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you upstairs ;)_

Groaning, Bellamy let his finger hover over the keyboard, stuck between accommodating her and doing what he wanted to do, which was to tell her (nicely, of course) to get out. After a few seconds of deliberation, he shut his phone, choosing not to answer, and slipped out of the car. There was a local dive bar across the street, where he figured he could drink off some of his frustration, at least until he was in a better mood. Nothing good could come of him going back to his place at the moment, plus she didn’t know he was already back. It seemed like the best option for now.

An hour later, he was on his second beer, just about to leave, when Miller, his next-door neighbor, clapped him on the back. His friend insisted on buying the next round, which turned into two, given it had been a while since they had caught up. Bellamy enjoyed hearing about Miller’s new boyfriend, a computer programmer who did botany on the side. It was only when Miller mentioned doing a dinner sometime with the two of them and him and Clarke that Bellamy remembered his girlfriend was waiting on him. With a hasty apology, Bellamy paid his tab and hurried out the door.

As he anxiously waited for the elevator to get to his floor, he considered texting Clarke that he was coming home, but there wasn’t much use now. He just hoped she wouldn’t be too mad; that was the last thing he needed today. When he arrived at his front door, he slid his keys in the lock cautiously, cursing each time they inconveniently jingled. It was fairly late, and maybe, if he was lucky, she had just gone to bed. 

Sliding the door open, Bellamy slipped inside, toeing his shoes off in complete silence. Down the dark hallway, a flickering light indicated that the television was on, although he couldn’t really hear it. He padded down the hall, shucking his jacket as he went. When he peered around the corner in the living room, his heart sank with guilt at the scene in front of him.

A standard party store banner spelling out ‘Congratulations’ hung on one wall, with a handmade poster under it that read, in bold block letters, ‘on having the shittiest day!’ There was a tiny, store-bought cake on the table, covered in neon blue frosting flowers, with bright green candles stuck in randomly across the top. Next to the cake were two flimsy party hats that had yellow stars scattered across a blue background. An pizza box with half of the contents eaten took up the rest of the table, and an open wine bottle sat on the floor underneath. Bellamy couldn’t help giving a small shake of his head at the scene; it had Clarke’s dry sense of humor all over it. Regret bloomed in his chest, because now that he was home, he realized this would have been an infinitely better remedy to his disaster of a day than four beers from the mediocre bar across the street.

Leaning against the doorframe, he finally turned his gaze to the couch, where Clarke slept soundly. Her blonde hair was splayed across her face, partly mashed between the lumpy pillow and her cheek. A few strands danced in time with her breathing, and she gave a brief, drowsy sneeze as one moved too close to her nose. Bellamy chuckled at the noise, and she shifted, finally starting to wake up. As she twitched on the couch, the blanket draped loosely over her shifted, sliding to the ground. When it hit the floor, Bellamy sucked in a choked breath, because apparently he had missed out on more than just pizza and cake.

Clarke was dressed in a black lace slip, with just a few panels of gauze and ribbon helping to hold it together. He raked his eyes over her, drinking in the way the fabric molded to her body, accentuating her curves. As she slowly woke, she stretched, causing the barely-there fabric to slide teasingly over her skin. Bellamy felt his throat dry up and an intense heat spread through him as he watched her sleepy movements. Pushing off the doorframe, he walked over to the couch. Gently, he sat on the edge of the cushion, bracing one arm on the seat back as he leaned over her.

Once Clarke had finally opened her eyes, still hazy with sleep, and noticed him, she smiled, sweetly, flirtatiously, and murmured very softly, “Surprise?”

His response was to clasp her face and pull her into a very deep, very intimate kiss that told her _exactly_ how much he liked her surprise. She was wide-awake after that, her hands greedily sliding across his stomach as insistently as his were gliding over her lace-covered hips, sides, chest, everything. As she sat up to tug off his shirt, a clanging sound startled them. Breaking off the kiss, Bellamy glanced down at the floor, where a can of something had fallen from her lap. When he picked it up and read the label, a wide, disbelieving but pleased grin slid onto his face.

“Whipped cream? Really?”

“A consolation prize for having the shittiest day ever,” Clarke said, her blue eyes glittering with dark amusement.

Bellamy stood suddenly, then leaned down to grab her around the waist. As he hefted her up over his shoulder, she shrieked in shock, slapping her hands against his back.

“Bellamy!” She laughed, gasping for breath as he carried her swiftly out of the living room.

“Shh, I’m claiming my prize,” he said smugly, making a beeline for the bedroom.

When he got there, he plopped her on the bed, peeling off his shirt before shaking the can and popping off its top.

“Maybe I’ll start having bad days more often,” he murmured as he stared her, wondering just where he wanted to start.

Throwing back her head, Clarke laughed, deeply and joyously, and the sound made Bellamy realize that no matter what difficulties life threw his way, he could make it through because of her.

**Author's Note:**

> I am forever shipper trash because of these two hehe.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee).


End file.
